


Issues of Discipline

by DesdemonaKaylose



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Discipline, Dubious Consent, M/M, Spanking, the kink is...… Mags being Obscenely Clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose
Summary: Ultra Magnus has decided that if the crew is going to act like children, he's going to discipline them like children. Unfortunately he won't listen long enough for Rung to explain why this is not such a great idea.
Relationships: Rung/Ultra Magnus
Comments: 28
Kudos: 118





	Issues of Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this little animation](https://blubrown9637.tumblr.com/post/619548291865214976/someone-made-a-joke-about-ultra-magnus-spanking) and went into an immediate fugue state

The announcement had been remarkably short, given who the speaker was. After several detailed lists of minor and major infractions innumerated in order of corresponding code sector, Ultra Magnus wrapped up the announcement with ominous severity.

“Clearly brig time and scut work detail are not proving to be adequate disciplinary measures. This ship continues to be a hotbed of tomfoolery, misdemeanors, and assorted shenanigans. Recidivism is at an all time high on this ship. I am determined to crack down on infractions, no matter how apparently ‘mild’ they may seem. We will have order if I have to drag every single one of you there kicking and screaming. That is all.”

One day later, Rung stood in the doorway of Ultra Magnus’ office, antenna flattened back against his helm, fingertips tapping each other nervously. He had been alarmed to discover the infraction tagged on his HUD when he woke up that morning, after a late night at Swerve’s with the majority of the Rod Squad in attendance.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have allowed the high spirits of the group to sway him. They had just been having so much fun, and it was so rare that he was asked to participate in anything.

If he had realized what Ultra Magnus’ new disciplinary policy entailed, he certainly would have thought twice about holding the bag for any of them. Particularly the captain.

Rung shifted uneasily in the doorway. “Er,” he said. “I really  _ am _ genuinely sorry for my participation in the events of the night, I recognize that I was out of line, surely there is some other solution we could come to…?”

Ultra Magnus ignored him, busy with dragging his very sturdy chair around the front of his meticulous desk.

“Community service, maybe,” Rung said, more earnestly now, “or—I’ve never been in the brig before, maybe a good week of seclusion would sort me right out? Surely there’s no need for  _ this—” _

Ultra Magnus lowered himself quite neatly into his chair, and opened his legs to the very precise width of his shoulders. Rung swallowed reflexively.

“It is important that  _ everyone _ understand,” Ultra Magnus said, “there will be no preferential treatment whatsoever on the Lost Light. Everyone will be subject to the same rules. That includes command staff, medical staff, and non-combatants.”

“Oh,” Rung said, with a terrible sinking feeling. “But couldn’t we—”

“I have settled on this method of discipline in order to produce discomfort, embarrassment, and only a moderate amount of pain.” Ultra Magnus settled his huge palms on his knees, implacable. “I will adjust the physical severity of the punishment to the specifications of your frame type. You do not need to worry about medical consequences.”

Rung’s fingers tapped against each other rapidly. “That is not what I was worried about, but thank you.”

Ultra Magnus indicated both his sturdy knees. “Place your hips over my right thigh and your chest over my left. Keep your hands out of the way. Any attempt to climb off will result in additional punishment.”

“Ultra Magnus, sir, I really don’t—”

“This is not up for debate, Rung. Get to it.”

Rung grimaced, but went obliging. He carefully lined up his hips with the edge of Ultra Magnus’ thigh, steadied himself on the blue paneling, and bent over across the SIC’s lap. Magnus was so tall that Rung barely had to bend his legs as he settled in. The immediate pressure against his modesty panel sent a zip of charge up his back; he winced.

“Are you  _ absolutely  _ sure—” he started to say.

“That’s two additional strikes,” Ultra Magnus said, “for being willful.”

“Willful!” Rung remarked, “What a thing to say!”

Without further warning, Ultra Magnus reeled back his hand and brought it down sharply against Rung’s aft. Rung jumped in alarm, which due to his position only resulted in his panel banging against Magnus’ thigh again. His vents all simultaneously popped open as if a switch had been flicked.

“Oh Primus,” he muttered, and buried his face in his hands.

Ultra Magnus paused between each strike for exactly the same amount of time, like a possessed metronome, waiting for Rung to finish processing the full effect of the spank. It went from  _ sharp _ to  _ hot _ and then burned down to a low ache, and then the impact of a firm palm sent Rung jolting all over again.

There was a ringing clap with each landing blow; each one felt like it rattled and shuddered right up the line of Rung’s spinal strut and punched straight into his sensory processor. His antenna jerked frantically. The tips of his pedes pushed and scratched at the floor.

“H-how many is that?” he managed, at about the same time that the ache stopped being a one-a-blow type of thing and started becoming a pervasive, inescapable state of being.

“Ten,” Ultra Magnus said shortly.

“And h-HOW, ugh, hhhhow many was there supposed to—were you supposed to—give—!”

“Thirty,” Ultra Magnus said.

Rung clutched his hand to his mouth, optics cycling wide. He jolted and groaned with the next blow.

“U, Ultra— _ sir—” _ he said through his tightly pressed hand, “Please could we— _ at least take a break—” _

“Absolutely not,” Ultra Magnus said, with an audible frown. When his huge fingers met Rung’s hips the force of inertia carried them forward, and for a fraction of a second they enclosed Rung’s entire aft.

Rung muffled a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a sob.

The soreness was seeping into his very protoform, into the softest and most sensitive part of him, building up in him like pressure, like liquid. Like the pressure of liquid that was building inside his valve, separated from Ultra Magnus’ thigh by only a thin water-tight seal and the mercy of Primus. When Magnus struck his aft again, his whole inner valve spiraled open inside of him in the expectation of spike.

His cables were on fire—his face felt hot enough to smelt iron—he felt at once as if he couldn’t possibly go on, and that stopping right now would send him into a fit of weeping such as no one on this ship had ever seen. It was so  _ good _ , and so terrible, and so overwhelming.

“You needn’t  _ whimper _ like that,” Ultra Magnus said, as Rung’s fingers dug in desperately to his knee. “I’m not damaging you. I have your frame specs pulled up for exact force calculations.”

“Sss, slag,” Rung gasped, too far gone to worry about polite diction.

His meta-processor was starting to slow into a slow warm trickle of sensation, but—it dawned on him in a fuzzy tumble of data that there was only one place this could end and—oh god, he was going to come, sooner or later, he  _ was _ and he wasn’t sure if he could stop it—

Rung stiffened.

“We need to stop, we need to right  _ now _ ,” he said, all at once urgent. “It’s too much, Ultra Magnus, sir, please, it’s too much for me.”

Ultra Magnus  _ hmph _ ed. “You are being exceedingly difficult about this. One would think you’d never been disciplined before.”

Rung bit his lip through the next one. “You can’t keep—you don’t know what you’re  _ doing _ —”

“Of course I know what I’m doing,” Ultra Magnus retorted. “Don’t be disrespectful as  _ well  _ as troublesome.”

Wild with the need to escape the pressure building in himself, Rung scrabbled against Ultra Magnus and pushed himself up, only to have the full weight of Magnus’ left hand come down hard on his shoulders. Air wheezed out of his cooling system as he was pressed inexorably down against a broad thigh.

“Two additional,” Ultra Magnus said. “I told you not to try and get up.”

Rung’s optics were trying to pixilated from the sensory burden.

“I—” he tried to say, and then had to slap his hand back over his mouth as the next strike forced a wretched whine from his vocalizer. “I can’t take… please, sir!”

“It’s only nine more,” Ultra Magnus said, with an air of disapproval. “It won’t be any good if you’re not properly sorry.”

“Please, I’m sorry!” Rung sobbed, “please sir, I’m going, I’m going to—”

His node was pulsing like the tick of a countdown, hot and swollen under his panel. Rung wriggled and kicked, but there was no fighting the weight on him. He shoved the edge of his hand into his mouth to keep from moaning as the next strike hit him.

He could feel his valve rippling, fully open inside of him.

“That’s thirty,” Ultra Magnus said, finally, pausing in his relentless assault. Rung slumped, strutless, over his lap, and pulled in a shaky ventilation. His valve  _ throbbed_, so wet that even the faint internal movement of his hip joints caused the mechanisms to shift against each other. He must be gaping under there, so open and ready…

“We’ll finish with the additional four total strikes,” Ultra Magnus said, and brought his hand down once again.

Rung’s whole body jolted as if electrocuted, a ragged shout escaping his open mouth. His modesty panel snapped open, unable to take the confusion of impulses any longer. Pressurized valve fluid spurted free, hitting the floor with a splash, but Ultra Magnus was already half way into the second punitive strike, and didn’t register the change quite fast enough—the entire force of his striking hand met the soft, vulnerable proto-mesh of Rung’s open and dribbling valve, and Rung abruptly lost control of his frame, crashing into an overload so strong that it knocked out his visual suite with a wave of white sparks.

He was dazed and echoing back pleasure like a bell when his mind finally caught back up to him, registering the cool flatness of laminate flooring. Forehead to the ground, he let out a confused groan. He was wet and outrageously sore, and still twitching with little aftershocks.

And he felt amazing. The mortifying truth was, this was by far the best overload that he had gotten in several millennia.

After a moment he gathered back up the wherewithal to turn his head and peer blearily across the floor. Ultra Magnus was on the other side of the office, chair knocked over between them, staring at his pink-streaked hand.

“What?” he said.

Rung thought about pushing himself upright, but frankly he didn’t have the necessary motor control back yet. He let his head thunk back against the nice cool floor.

“I really hope,” he managed, addressing the sort of wobbly and unfocused shape that constituted an Ultra Magnus, “the next time someone tells you they need to take a break… you pay a bit more attention.”


End file.
